my throat, said that I would like to meet his fiancee.
I went home and cried a good deal and a few days
later met her. The passion immediately died, and
she and I became great friends and I painted several
portraits of her. It was trying, many years later,
after he and his wife had parted and he was quite
alone, when we had some drinks together in Paris
and I told him of the great passion that I had had.
He was very much surprised and said, seizing my
hand, " Don't you think those things could ever be
revived,35 and I said, " I am afraid they couldn't,"
and he was very sad. However we are still friendly
and he has become a very celebrated man and is
now happily married.
I was getting more and more bored with Edgar
who was daily becoming more soulful, and spoke in
parables which I had long since given up at-
tempting to understand. He bought some wooden
blocks and did some woodcuts. These were very
interesting and he sold a few. The painter, Ben-
jamin Corea, lived in an attic in the next house.
He was even poorer than we were. I would buy
two pennyworth of bones twice a week and make a
stew, and on this and porridge and margarine, we
all three lived. One day someone bought a drawing
so I bought some real butter, Edgar and I had a
dispute about people with Victorian ideas, which
I said he had, and he threw the plate and the butter
at me. I was so upset about the butter that I forgot
to throw anything back. I looked despairingly
round and saw it sticking to the wall. It was still,
fortunately, quite eatable. One day a rich aunt